


patchworked pieces

by sightandsound3733



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7431053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sightandsound3733/pseuds/sightandsound3733
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of tumblr prompts and short fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What do you want?

**Author's Note:**

> John/Alex: All the things I didn't say

“What do you want?”

He can’t look up and meet those eyes, those dark, soul searching, beautiful eyes. If he does he’ll break, shatter into a million pieces. His fingers interlock tightly in his lap, he’s hunched over in his seat. The hand on his back is gentle, there’s a thumb tracing in light soothing circles and he’s choking on all the words that could be. 

What does he want? 

He wants lazy mornings where they’re too tired, too happy, too sated to leave the bed. He wants to curl an arm around slim hips and keep them tangled in the sheets for as long as possible.

He wants sleepy kisses, and laughter, and smiles. He wants to taste the ‘good morning, good night, i love you’ from lips that would curl around those words like silk. He wants a hand in his, wants to be the force with the power to pull away from shit stirred up from heated words and he wants his hands to be the ones to rub tension from tight shoulders. He wants to soothe and murmur, wants his voice to be the one of reason to ears that are deaf to it otherwise. 

He wants to touch, feel, trace and hold. He wants to suffocate the ache in his chest, wants to drown in the soothing balm of love. That hand on his back, moves to his shoulder, gives a squeeze, a silent prompt. 

He wants to close his eyes and lean into the touch, wants to press into that comfort, drown in it. He wants to press his forehead into the crook of his shoulder and shift them so he could press kisses to skin, to whisper love in their wake, to tattoo the truth over the pulse of a heart he so wants to claim as his own. 

What he wants is to get up and speak his mind, to scream from the rooftops, “I just want to be yours, you idiot! How can you not see that?” 

He wants what he can’t have.

John looks to the side, to Alexander and he has to smile. Marriage is a good look on him, he’s practically glowing, smiling soft and warm and he’s happy. Happy and it’s not because of anything John has done or said.

The earnestness in his friend’s eyes is almost desperate, waiting on edge for John’s response. He could speak the truth, could tell Alexander exactly what he wants… and he’s damn sure he’d get it. 

“Nothing,” he says instead, clapping a hand over the one on his shoulder, reassuringly. He can feel the press of the shiny new wedding ring, the one that claims his Alex for another. “I’m good, man. Don’t worry about me.”

In the end it doesn’t matter what he wants. 


	2. I think it's time to leave now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson goes a step too far, John puts a stop to it.

The voice that interrupts him is almost unheard in the din of the discourse. It’s the cold venom dripping from the words that makes Thomas Jefferson pause in his tirade. He turns back to where Hamilton was standing and starts when he sees that Laurens has stepped up in front of him and into the fray. 

“What?” 

“You heard me,” Laurens snaps, arms crossed tight over his chest, standing squarely in front of Hamilton. Thomas towers over him, but that doesn’t seem to matter when Laurens has his eyes narrowed as sharply as they are. His mouth is curled in a snarl. “You need to leave.  _ Now _ .” 

It’s not often that Laurens gets involved when he and Hamilton get into it. He’s always there for sure, and he’s been known to add quips to help Hamilton out, or to voice his support, but generally he stays out of it. He’s never put himself between them before, and never with such venom.

Thomas quirks an eyebrow, looks past Laurens’ protective stance to Hamilton behind him, just barely seen over the other man’s shoulder. There’s a taunt at his lips, a ‘you gonna let your boyfriend fight your battles’, but it dies when he sees how Hamilton stands with his head bowed, shoulders hunched and trembling. 

James is quiet at his side, puts a hand on his shoulder and tugs, pulling him away. Laurens isn’t budging, Hamilton isn’t looking and Thomas can’t quite find the words he wants to say. So he lets him be removed from the conversation, from the moment right where he was damn sure winning the argument, without a fight. 

It’s only when they’re away from the scene, sat back down at their table in the dining hall that he looks to James for an explanation. “What the hell was that?”

“You went too far,” James says, voice soft. When he sees Thomas’s frown he sighs, turning to look at his friend, dinner abandoned for the moment, probably long gone cold while he and Hamilton had gotten into it. Again. “You brought up family.”

“So?” Thomas frowns, looking out across the hall, finding where they’d left the other two. They’re still standing, in front of the table, Laurens in front of Hamilton, but they’re facing each other now. “

“Hamilton’s mother died when he was a kid,” James informs him quietly, watching with Thomas as Laurens takes Hamilton’s face in his hands. He’s talking, soft, his head ducked, searching for Hamilton’s gaze, his thumbs smoothing over Hamilton’s cheeks. Any and all anger he had aimed at Thomas is long gone, there’s only tenderness left behind. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Laurens so calm, he was usually so quick to passionate anger. “He’s an orphan.”

“How do you know?” 

“Hamilton and I were friends once, Thomas,” Another sigh, followed by a shallow cough. “We talked. It’s not something he likes to share.”

Thomas frowns, and doesn’t respond. He’s too focused on how Laurens draws Hamilton closer, tilts his chin up so he can get a look at him. Hamilton is silent, he meets the other’s gaze and he’s listless. 

Laurens talks some more, tucks loose hair back behind Hamilton’s ear and he’s smiling, a small thing, barely there. It’s an offer, a coax. Fingers slip into dark hair and whatever he’s saying brings a twitch to Hamilton’s lips, but he doesn’t speak.

First time Thomas has ever seen him silent. It’s hardly as satisfying as he’d always pictured. 


	3. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander works himself too hard, John is there when he's ready to shut down.

It happens every goddamned semester. 

John knows Alexander, knows him better than anyone else on the planet, all his flaws and imperfections, and he knows how those all culminate in the worst ways when it comes to his school work. 

If you asked him, Alexander’s worst quality was his never ending worth ethic. Because it really never ended. And Alexander let himself get swept away with the tide of it, let it crash against him like waves on a beach and weather away at his sanity all too easily. 

And midterms was where it hit him hardest. 

He learned quickly how to handle Alex during this time. There was no use arguing that he needed sleep, that he needed to eat and drink things that weren’t energy drinks (poison in a can, John wouldn’t let it in the dorm), that he couldn’t actually absorb information from all his books at once by pure force of will or osmosis. During midterms Alex would sleep when his body lost the will to stay awake, eat when the lack of food gave him a migraine too painful to ignore, and he would write until his fingers failed him. 

John hated it, but what could he do? Trying to fight it only led to actual fights and then Alex refusing to come home between studying. Sue him, but he wanted to actually _ see _ his boyfriend, even if that meant if the seeing him was in the form of him hunched over the desk into the early hours of morning, and the ever present click-clack of his keyboard. So he waited for the storm to pass. 

Midterms lasted two weeks at most, just fourteen days of hell from the outside looking in, and then he’d have his Alexander back. 

Alex’s last exam this time around was a 9 AM, his Political Histories class, and John waited for him with baited breath. He was done with exams, had been for two days, and his last paper had been turned in just before midnight the night before. Which was perfect. Gave him the rest of the day to tend to his man. 

He pre-stocks the dorm with water, Gatorade (lemon lime, it’s the only kind Alex would ever touch), and a new haul of groceries, everything from fruit to Pop-Tarts, and he waits. 

There’s a groan as the door opens and John looks up from his book with a small smile. Alexander drags his feet as he enters the dorm, his bag trailing behind him on the floor like it was the weight of the world. The door slams shut, the sound not even phase Alex as he lets the bag go abandoned on the floor.

“Hi babe,” John sets the book down, offers out a hand to Alexander, who moves toward him and the comfort of their bed like a moth to a flame. Alexander throws himself down on the bed, and John, curling around his lover, all tired limbs searching comfort. 

“I want to sleep forever,” Alex mutters, pressing his face into John’s thigh. “Let me stay here and die.” John can only see half his face in the position he’s allowed himself to fall in and god does it make his heart ache. His boyfriend’s tan skin had a tired, sallow cast to it, the dark circles under his eyes nearly bruised purple from how dark they were. His hair is in disarray, barely held back by a hair tie that has seen better days, and shiny with grease in the fluorescent lighting of the room.

A stunner his lover was not. Not at the moment at least.  

“Hello to you too,” John rolls his eyes, smile fond. One hand drifts down to bury in dark hair, he wrinkles his nose at the grease trap his fingers coming into contact with. “Ew, babe, you need a shower.”

“No,” Alex whines, shaking his head as adamantly as he can manage. “No fuck that. That’s not sleep. I need sleep.”

“You need to take care of yourself,” John chides, combing his fingers through Alex’s hair anyway, pulling it out of it’s tie. “I’m gonna take a guess and say you haven’t eaten anything since yesterday when I made you have some cereal, and that you haven’t showered since I pressed you against the bathroom wall and choked on your cock on Monday.”

“Wow that was a jump,” Alexander peers up at him now, a lazy grin splitting his lips. “Trying to get me horny with that type of talk, Laurens?”

“Maybe if I couldn’t grease a pan with your hair,” John quips back. “That aside, you need to eat something and shower before you crash or you’re gonna be miserable when you wake up.”

“Rude, I’m miserable now. Let me sleep. Please?”

“Alex, baby, I know you’re tired,”John coos, curling his fingers tight enough to get a hold, one he uses to pull Alexander up, in spite of his protest. “But you gotta listen to me.  _ Querido _ , please.”

“You’ve been telling me to sleep for days!”

“Alex.”

“Don’t you love me?”

“Alexander don’t start. I will call Washington if I have to,” John lets his voice go stern, and he holds strong to that even when Alexander turns the full force of his best puppy dog eyes on him. “ _ Mira,  _ Alex. Look at me.”

Alexander blinks at him, tired and confused and he looks almost feverish with it. John takes his boyfriend’s face in his hands, partially in an attempt to focus him, partially as a way to touch his skin to feel for an actual fever. He’s warm, but nothing out of the ordinary. Good.

“John, I’m so tired,” Alex murmurs, leaning into the touch on his cheeks, his eyes closing tight. John hums, presses a kiss to Alex’s forehead. “ _ Solo quiero dormir… _ ”

“ _ Lo sé queirdo, lo sé _ ,” He murmurs softly. Alex presses his forehead to John’s and oh his poor boy is almost shaking with exhaustion. “Please let me take care of you, Alex,” he can hear the plead in his voice. “Don’t fight me, let me take care of you, then you can sleep, I promise.”

Silence meets him, several long beats of it and Alexander doesn’t move. John sighs, closes his own eyes and cards his fingers through tangled hair. “I love you,” he whispers, not expecting a response. “I just want to take care of you.”

“You always do,” Alexander’s answering whisper is a surprise and a delight. “I love you too.” He pulls back, sitting back on his heels and looks at John with heavy eyes and bone tired everything, practically curling in on himself. “I… will you come with me?”

John smiles, and nods, of course he would. He’d follow Alexander anywhere. Alex sighs and his last bit of stubbornness melts. “Fine. But after that I’m sleeping forever and you can’t stop me.”


	4. Idk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We do the weirdest things when we're in love.

“I can’t tell if this is you being passive aggressive as fuck cause I left, or if you’re just completely nonsensical when you’re drunk and I’m not here.”

Alexander starts on the bed, his phone dropping to his lap in surprise at the voice that intrudes on his struggle of a hungover morning. John stands in the door, overnight bag abandoned at his feet, looking torn between confused and bemused. 

He wants to spring to his feet, the ache in his everything prevents that from happening. Alexander manages a smile, shifts to his knees and reaches out to his boyfriend, motioning him closer. “You’re back early.”

“Switched my flight,” John chuckles, lets the door shut behind him before moving to join Alexander on the bed. He leans in with a kiss and Alex sighs happily into it, melting. 

“Missed you,” Alexander mutters, clumsily getting his hands on John’s face. He wishes his hair was down, wants to tangle and tug on his curls, make a mess of them. John chuckles and pulls back. No no no why?

“I can tell,” John looks toward his desk and Alexander frowns, so confused, before following his lead and looking over. In general, John’s desk was a much neater place than his own, but today that was not the case. There was a slew of pencils, broken in half, scattered over the desk top. 

“I…”

“You drunkenly broke my pencils,” John chuckles, shaking his head, dislodging Alexander’s hands. “From the looks of it you broke ALL my pencils, Alex. Were you really so upset that I was gone?”

He’s teasing, of course, but Alexander feels chastised. God what had he done? What did he think that would accomplish? Heat flushes at his cheeks. “I don’t remember doing that.”

“How drunk did you let Lafayette get you?” John meets his gaze, he’s laughing. It’s a fond sound, gentle and warm. “You’re not the blackout type, baby.”

“I missed you,” he says again by way of explanation, shrugging a shoulder. Missed is an understatement, doesn’t come close to explaining the all encompassing ache that clawed at the inside of his chest every moment his John was gone. “I’m sorry, I’ll-”

“You think I care about the pencils?” John asks, laughing again, pressing closer, shifting on the bed. “It’s been days since I’ve seen you. The pencils can wait.” He takes Alexander’s face in his hands, centering him, focusing him. Alex zeroes in like nothing else matters, and it’s doesn’t. It’s John and he’s back and penciless, but he doesn’t care.

“I can make it up to you,” He says, smile shifting into a smirk, a promise. John rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t stop them when Alexander shifts them, gets John pressed into the bed, straddling his hips.

“Ridiculous boy,” John chides, but he doesn’t stop him. His hands fall to his hips, thumbs slip under the loose fabric of Alexander’s t-shirt, trace over the sharpness of his hips. Alexander shivers and John grins. “Alright. Make it up to me.”


	5. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is haunted.

 

Cold.

He’s so cold.

It’s the middle of August, and they’re in the middle of Afghanistan, with the sun beating down on them relentlessly and he’s cold. Something is seriously not right with that, but fuck it all if he could figure out what it was.

The ground is hard beneath him–he’s on the ground? Why is he on the ground? He shouldn’t be, he needs to be walking, marching, keeping pace with the rest of his squad, they’ve got to get to Kabul before nightfall.

There’s a faint buzzing in his ear and when he tries to move, tries to get up, a hand forces him roughly back to the ground. Stay the fuck down, a voice snarls. You wanna get yourself killed?

What?

That hand moves from his shoulder to his side, clamps down hard over a spot just above his hip and fire rips through him, burns through his veins and a cry is wrenched from between his lips.

Pain is sudden, pain is new, pain is hot and it burns, oh it burns so bad and why won’t it stop? Where did it come from, why–

“John.” There’s a voice, now. He can’t place the source of it. “John,” it says again. Is he-He’s John. He’s John, and he’s in pain and it’s cold, so cold when it shouldn’t be and what–

“John!”

He can’t breathe, can’t see (are his eyes even open?) he’s so cold. Cold is bad. Cold is bad because it means he’s dying, the heat (the life) leeching from him as his side burns like an ember on the hot concrete in the middle of a tiny nothing of a town that’s been dragged into the hell of a war zone.

“You’re alright,” that voice soothes, hands follow, gently touching his shoulder. “You’re alright, I promise.” He tries not to seize up under the touch because it’s different. The hands are familiar, they move with a purpose, he knows them.

John chokes on a whimper,  curls his fists even tighter. The hands move at his shoulder, fingertips pressing like ball bearings into his skin. His heartbeat thrums loudly in his ear and he’s dying, he’s fine, he must be dying, it’s so cold, he can’t breathe, it hurts, he can’t–

“Your name is John Laurens. You are twenty seven years old. It’s April. The year is 2016, and you’re in Manhattan, in our apartment. You had a nightmare, John, but you’re okay, I promise.”

The words sink in, that voice is close. It’s too gentle, too good and pure and it conjures up only good things in John’s mind to be associated with the pain. It’s 2016. He’s in Manhattan. Kabul is leagues away, and the past is behind him.

2016…home…Alexander.

Alexander.

John opens his eyes and he blinks away the film of tears. Alexander comes into focus, on his knees before John, his hands outstretched before him and gripping his shoulders. John swallows back his panic, tries not to choke on it, and the world comes rushing back around him.

It’s Saturday night, date night. They were watching some crime drama (Alex loves them, loves to sit and mock all he inaccuracies, he’s the biggest jerk like that and god John loves him so much he could drown in it), and things were fine. Until suddenly they weren’t.

“W-what-?” His voice cracks when he tries to speak. John winces at the sound. Alexander moves to take his hands, to sit on the couch beside him. The TV is still playing something, but it’s muted now, there’s not a sound to interrupt them. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Alexander murmurs, pressed against John’s side, as close as they can possibly be without somehow merging into a singular person. “I don’t know, honey. We were watching TV and you went tense… must have been something you heard…?”

John closes his eyes tightly, curls into Alexander’s welcoming embrace. He murmurs apologies, fervent strings of words that roll and run together, basically nonsensical. Alexander doesn’t care, holds him through it, presses kisses to John’s hairline and keeps him close.

It’s not often that this happens, that John succumbs to memories he’s pressed down to dust at the back of his mind, that he loses himself, but when it does it’s terrible.

John raises a shaky hand and presses it down his side, searching for the little raised bit of scar tissue just above his hip. Bullet wound, what sent him home. He shivers with violent relief when he finds it closed and whole. Healed.

Alexander’s hand comes to cover his own, their fingers thread together over a long since healed wound. “You’re okay,” he whispers, kissing John’s temple. “You’re okay, I promise.” John manages a nod, tucking his face against Alexander’s chest. Silence blankets them for a handful of heartbeats, Alex’s nice and steady, John trying to wrangle his under control. It’s Alexander who breaks it, voice soft, hesitant.

“I… What can I do to help?”

John is slow in his movement, but he pulls back to look at Alexander. His beautiful boy. He looks back at him with wide, dark, earnest eyes. He’d do anything to help John, they both know this, and John wishes he could be more for his boy than a broken soldier, haunted by the past.

He cups Alex’s cheek with a still shaking hand and traces his thumb over the arch of high cut cheekbones. Gorgeous boy, gorgeous love. His. John leans in for a kiss, stops when his nose brushes Alexander’s, when their foreheads rest together. “Just… please let me forget.” 

“Anything,” Alexander breathes out. Their lips just touch and John presses forward to sink into it.

He’d be okay. Alexander was here. He’d be just fine. 


	6. A good look

Alexander was quite a sight. 

Bright eyes rimmed dark and intense, never faltering in their focus across the bar. Pretty pink mouth twisted up in a snarl, never stopping hands frozen into fists on the table top, hard tension keeping him ramrod straight in his chair, muscles tense, ready for a fight. 

Lafayette chuckles from behind his drink, lazily following Alexander’s furious gaze across the room. John leaned against the counter of the bar, smiling prettily at the man at his side. Both were waiting for drinks, both were cast attractively in the dim lighting. The stranger smiles down at John, leans down make himself heard over the noise of chatter. 

A hand rests on John’s arm, just a light touch, barely any contact. The sight of it conjures up an audible growl from deep in Alexander’s chest, a low, feral sound and Lafayette looks back to the man at his side. 

The intensity that he has trained on John from across the room is electric, Lafayette can practically taste it in the air. He has to wonder what it feels like to be the focal point of that undivided attention. A shiver trails down his spine, languid and yet sharp. Something to consider. 

“Mon petit lion,” he muses after a moment of watching Alex restrain himself to the best of his ability while John tilts his head back and laughs across the room. “I would normally tell you to relax… but jealousy is a good look on you, mon ami.”


	7. A good look pt. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follow up to 'a good look'. Aka: John noticed the jealousy.

He’s shoved back into the wall and all he can do is smirk. 

Sharp eyes burn into his own, darker than midnight, hands curl like vices at his wrists, and he’s pinned. John licks his lips and meets Alexander’s gaze steadily. Cool and calm while Alexander burns before him. 

“You did that on purpose,” Alexander growls, the sound ripping itself from his chest. 

“You had it coming,” John counters, flexing his hands, wriggling his fingers, just to test Alexander’s grip without trying to pull away. “Sulking over by Laf all night. Ignoring me. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Not throw yourself at some fucker from the bar,” Alexander snaps, suddenly in his face. Nose to nose John can almost see physical flames licking at Alexander’s irises. His smirk widens. 

“It was just dancing,” John muses, feigning innocence. “And since you so clearly weren’t interested in me…”

Hips press to his and with them comes the press of Alexander, hot and hard and something delicious sparks low in John’s belly. Oh hello there. 

“Does that feel like disinterest to you, Laurens?” A shiver, an actual fucking shiver, runs up John’s spine and Alexander can feel it shake through him from how he’s got them pressed together against the living room wall. “You getting off on this?”

“I like you jealous,” John purrs, leaning in to nip playfully at Alexander’s lips. He’s so close, it’s driving him mad, and Alexander is just there, in his proximity, stealing the breath from his lungs on every exhale, and it’s not enough. “l like when your attention is all mine.”

It’s Alexander’s turn to smirk, and he leans in closer, just a fraction more, and John feels himself lean into that, tilts his head to the side and lets his eyes go low and hooded. 

“Should’ve asked nicely,” Alexander murmurs and then he’s gone. 

John falls weak against the wall and Alexander laughs at the whine that breaks from his throat. “Fucker!”

“Got a potty mouth on you too?” Alexander teases, pacing back a few steps, eyes locked on John. “My my, dear boy. What on earth am I going to do with you.”

“Smug fucker,” John rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not gonna fucking chase you, Hamilton. Get your ass over here and kiss me dammit!”


	8. In the closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiding doesn't always lead to something bad...

“How does this keep fucking happening?” 

John’s voice comes in a hushed whisper, quick, harried, and hassled. His lips brush Alexander’s cheek in the darkness and he curls his fists tight, nails cutting into his palm. The spike of pain is enough to override the shiver that threatens to run down his spine. 

“You provoked them this time,” Alexander mutters, glaring at the floor as he tries to calm his racing heart. Fuck. Fuck this was bad. Shit went too far this time and this was just– bad.

He couldn’t make bail again if they were caught, shit shit shit and John couldn’t take another strike on his record. It’s too dark for him to properly see his friend, but he can make out the strong, tense line of John’s jaw, the slope of his nose. Messy curls fall loose from his ponytail, he can feel more than see the rise of John’s chest, can feel the warmth of his breath at his cheek. 

The air is heavy and they’re pressed chest to chest. John huffs, it moves his whole body, Alex feels every shift of him at his back. They’re pressed together, hip to hip, sharing the same air,stolen away in a coat closet under the stairs of the community center the equal pay rally was being held. “I only got involved when he went to hit you-”

“Bullshit,” John’s eyes cut to him, sharp and fiery. “He tried to grab at you and I-”

“John I was fine,” Alexander sighs at him, squinting in an attempt to meet his eyes in the dark. “I don’t need you to try to protect me! I could’ve handled it!” 

“He was twice your size Alex!” John snaps, voice rising above it’s whisper. Alex is quick to clap a hand over his mouth as there’s a rise in the noise running back their little haven. John glares, licks his hand and Alex rolls his eyes. 

“Real mature,” he murmurs, taking his hand away, letting it fall back to his side. “You can’t keep doing shit like that, punching cops. You incited the riot,” he frowns, glaring at John’s chest. “You’re gonna get yourself fucking killed and I’m not-”

“Say you’re not worth it and I’ll punch you myself,” John’s growl sinks into his bones and ripples heat throughout his body. John’s hand catch on Alexander’s wrists, they’re closer if that’s possible, he can feel the sharp press of John’s hips against his waist and oh. Alexander closes his eyes tight because no. No. No absolutely not this was so not the fucking time for this. 

“John.”

“Shut the fuck up for once, would you?” The words are harsh, all too familiar from just about everyone who’s ever met him, but his tone lacks the disdain they usually carry. “Fuck, Alexander. You’re smarter than this.”

“Do we have to do this now?” Alex draws his gaze up to John’s face. He can see a bit better now, had adjusted to the light (lack their of) and John is frowning at him. “Is this the time?”

“Why you got somewhere to be?” John’s voice is so dry that Alex almost chokes on the snort that burst forth from his lips. It’s a sound so stark, gunfire loud in the quiet of the space and it’s John’s turn to slap a hand over his mouth. 

Anxious glance to the door, John’s teeth sink into his full lower lip and Alexander squeezes his eyes tight. No stop. Guitar callused fingers tap impatiently at his cheek and Alexander sighs against the hand and looks up, eyes opening. 

They’re close, that hasn’t changed. But they’re more than just close. They’re inhabiting the same center of gravity, John’s leg tucked between his own. A loose curl tickles Alex’s cheek and the warmth pouring off John is enough to make him flush all over. He doesn’t remove his hand, Alex’s fingers curl in the hem of his hoodie, all nervous energy, keyed up thrums of kinetic wildness just itching to burst forth. 

“I want to protect you, idiot,” John says, blinking at him in the dark. He doesn’t remove his hand. “It’s all I want. How do you not see that? Why don’t you  _ want _ to see that?” Alexander feels his eyes widen and blink rapidly. What? What the actual- Was Hercules about to jump out of a hatbox and call April Fools?

He tries to speak, John’s name falling from his lips, but the press of John’s hand swallows the sound. The heat of his palm is an inferno against his skin and Alexander’s heart jackrabbits out of control. 

Too dark, too close, too much. They were hiding from the fucking cops because of a right they technically started and John was too close. 

John apparently disagreed, because he’s moving forward, forcing Alexander to step back until he’s got him pressed against the wall. The hand falls away from his mouth, Alexander’s lips have parted in surprise. 

“Is this really the time?” Alexander asks again, voice a whisper. John’s tongue flicks out, licks his lips as he nods. His hands box Alexander in against the wall. Noses brush, breath comes heavy, and he can’t process anything except for John. JohnJohnJohn, too close, too much, not enough.

“When else am I gonna get the opportunity for you to just stand fucking still?”

There’s no way to tell who breaks first, who leans in and seals their mouth over the other’s, who first rolls their hips and drinks in the other’s moan. All Alexander could seehearfeeltastewant was John. 

And that was all that mattered.


	9. Missing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Alexander was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. He was starting to think he’d been fucking cursed, that maybe Jefferson had performed some deep south voodoo on him, stuck pins into some shitty rag doll with his name on it or whatever. Because there was no way that bad days like this just fucking happened. 

He’d woken up with a migraine, the mild kind that just sort of pulses behind his left eyes, the kind he can’t do fuck all for. Alex had knocked back some painkillers to take care of it. It had little effect. 

Migraine meant he couldn’t wear his contacts, that he’d be stuck with his glasses on all day, even though the nose piece is shot. The little metal bit stabs into the bridge of his nose, but whatever right? Could be worse. 

Oh and worse it got.

From burning his mouth on his coffee from the little shop right before the Capitol Mall to being greeted at the door of his office with a hundred things going wrong all at once, everyone in a panic, and everyone and their mother thinking it was somehow his fault. 

From Angelica in his ear with “What do you mean you told the Russian ambassador that his policies weren’t fit to scrape the bottom of the Hudson over twitter?!” (Which you know. Was totally true. But it was also something he said the week before, how was it just now biting him in the ass?) to Jefferson lording over him, refusing to leave his office and berating him with a nasally “God damn, Hamilton, you can’t do anything right can you? No wonder the Senate laughs you off the floor the moment they see your name endorsing anything, this bill is shit!” (Fucking bastard didn’t he have better things to do?!) It just never ended. 

The world threw all it’s roadblocks up at him and Alexander was stumbling right along just fine. The first twenty years of his life were some of the worst he thinks possible (not that he likes to play the martyr… but come on), and one bad day isn’t going to break him… until Washington calls him into the Oval office and fixes him with a disappointed frown. 

“I expect more of you, Alexander,” Washington’s words are calm, hardly cruel, but they sting like knives. He manages an apology, surprised by the itch behind his eyes, the returning throb from his migraine and the sour twist to his stomach all at once.

He can handle the world turning upside down and inside out but for some reason something as small as Washington’s disappointment on a day where everything else is against him nearly breaks him when a damned hurricane and never ending grief couldn’t. 

Alex manages to get through the day, staggers home and keeps it all together until the door to the apartment shuts loudly behind him. The finality of the sound has him closing his eyes against the threat of frustrated tears. 

No. Stop. 

The deep breathing he tries to take rattles in his chest and he lets his head slam back against the door heavily, his body sinking to the floor. His mind is more noise than thoughts, and his fingers shake as he shoves a hand in his pocket for his phone, his free hand throwing his damned glasses to the floor in frustration. 

Blindly he dials, squeezes his eyes shut and presses the device to his ear. Pick up pick up pick up please god just-

“Hello?”

“My day has been a complete shitshow and it’s all your fault.”

“Alex?” John’s voice is tinged with warm laughter and Alexander almost breaks down sobbing from the sound of it. “Pray tell, baby girl, how is it my fault?”

“Things never go to shit when you’re here,” He’s pouting, Alexander can hear it plainly in his voice even if he’s not looking in a mirror to see the downward pull at his lips. “By logical deduction I can say easily that my day being The Worst Ever is your fault, Laurens.”

Another laugh, the sound like a balm to Alexander’s pains. He curls into a tighter ball against the door and wishes for John. 

“Baby, I’m sorry you had a bad day,” John’s cooing now. Alex can hear a shift of bed sheets and he frowns. He opens an eye, just enough to peek at the time on the cable box and he groans. Almost 11.

“And now I’m keeping you up!” Oh and now he’s whining too. God why did John even deal with him? He was terrible. “Fuck I’m the worst boyfriend ever!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” John eye roll might as well have been audible, and his voice stays fond. “Alex. Baby. I’m gonna need you to take a few deep breaths for me okay? Calm down.”

“I am calm,” Alexander mutters, but he goes limp against the door again, fight seeping out of him. He was tired. John, ever the angel, counts slowly for Alexander, guiding him in breathing deep and steady. The throb in his head persists, the twist to his gut is still wound tight, but he can open his eyes without feeling like he’s going to melt into a ball of blubbering saline. 

“Better?” John asks. He’s smiling, Alex can almost see it, the half smile, the quirk to the left that’ll deepen his dimple, make his eyes sparkle and he aches all over. 

“Yeah,” Alexander admits softly, muttering. He waits a beat before sighing. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” John’s sad now. Alex wishes he could see him. “I’ll be home in a few days, baby… Maybe earlier if I can get the Parks Department to put a rush on the paperwork. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“You won’t be home tomorrow,” He’s pouting again, but it’s not as crippling this time. Alexander forces himself to his feet and paces sluggishly to the kitchen. He should probably eat something…

“I know. I’m sorry,” John sighs, it’s practically drenched with guilt and fuck that’s not what he wanted. Alexander leans against the counter, presses his forehead to the cabinet. 

“Just. Tell me you love me. That you don’t think I’m a fuck up and today was a fluke. Tell me that you want to be with me, hold me, kiss me. Make me forget today ever happened. Make me look forward to tomorrow.”  _ To one day closer to you… _

“I can do that.”


	10. Baking at bedtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes bedtime takes a bit go coaxing.

Waking up in the middle of the night to an empty space beside him was nothing new.

John was well aware of Alexander’s nocturnal habits, and he was well acquainted with the process of coaxing his boyfriend back into bed several times throughout the night, every night. He doesn’t mind, he’s happy to do it if it’ll get Alex to sleep for a few solid hours at a time, but God does he wish his boy could just turn off some nights, take a breather.

Then again he would hardly be Alexander if he was capable of that.

John stretches in bed, yawning wide enough that his jaw clicks with the motion, and pushes himself to sit up in bed. He doesn’t need to glance around the room to know that he’s alone. There’s no faint glow from Alex’s computer on the desk, no warm wash of light from the lamp set their either. No Alex.

He winces as he pushes out of bed, his feet hitting the chilled hardwood of their bedroom floor and pushes to his feet before he can rethink the action and just go back to bed. Alex would join him eventually… but that eventually could stretch for hours. It’d be simpler to just corral him back to bed.

John adjusts the fit of his sweats as he walks from the bedroom, ties the drawstring a little more firmly to stop the loose article from slipping down his hips as he clears his throat.

“Alexander?”

He expects a tired grunt, maybe a quiet call of his own name in response, from the living room. He expects to see Alexander curled up on the sofa, snuggled down in blankets with a notebook, or a novel. He doesn’t expect a loud burst of French profanities from the kitchen.

John pauses in his journey and blinks. The kitchen? He glances at the television display for the time. 3 in the morning. What on earth was his Hamilton doing in the kitchen at this hour?

“Alex,” John calls again, padding into the kitchen, moving just a hair quicker than he’d been before, more out of curiosity than anything else. “Babe, what are you doing up?”

“Nothing! I’m fine!” Alex calls back, voice hurried, almost frantic. “Go back to bed!” Yeah like that was gonna work. John rolls his eyes at the attempt and cards a hand through his loose curls, absentmindedly wishing he’d grabbed a hair tie on his way out of the bedroom. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a quick trip to get Alex back to bed just yet.

“Babe, come on. Let’s-” John steps into the kitchen and stops just inside the mouth of the room. 

The first thing he sees is that there is flour everywhere. White powder dusts the kitchen cabinets, the counter, the floor, absolutely everything is blanketed in a steady coating of flour, including Alexander.

His beautiful, fiery Alexander stands at the center of the mess, hair dusted with white, a cakey splotch of it thick at his hairline. His fading summer tan is stark in comparison, and he looks a mix between indignant and embarassed. There’s a faint flush to his cheek and oh this man was going to be the death of him. Love bursts hot and sudden in his chest and John is almost dizzy at just the mere sight of his boy. Alexander pouts as John takes in his delicate state and the remnants of the bag of flour is limp in his hands.

“…I may have made a mistake.”

“I,” John blinks, takes it all in, and can’t stop the smile from crossing his lips. “You know what? I don’t have anything to say about this.” Alexander frowns at him, watches as John paces across the kitchen, stepping barefoot into the floury tundra that covers the space. 

“I wanted to bake cupcakes,” Alex explains, as if that was simply a normal thing to do in the middle of the night on a whim. John stops in front of Alexander, moving on instinct to take his dear into his arms, humming in response. 

“May I ask why?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Alexander shrugs, dropping the bag and what remains of it’s contents to the floor. The pout blooms into a smile, Alex winds an arm around John’s neck, lets one hand rest on the his chest. The flour coating his hands feels fine as it hits the skin of his chest. 

“You never can,” John murmurs fondly, kissing just the tip of Alexander’s nose, one of the few spots not dusted in flour, smiling warmly at the giggle the kiss inspires from Alexander’s lips. “Dear boy. You know we have cake mix in the cupboard, right? No need for flour.”

“…I did not know this,” Alexander blinks at him, dark eyes flickering toward the cabinets, almost looking betrayed. “I looked up a recipe online… the bag kind of exploded when I opened it and well…”

“Well,” John agrees, shaking his head. In lieu of any further response, John leans down to steal a kiss from Alexander’s dusted lips. The kiss is chalky, the taste of the flour immediately coats his tongue, but he doesn’t care. Under it is that sweetness he knows so well, the familiar taste and tang of his Alexander, the one thing he’ll always be hungry for.

Alex hums at the kiss, presses up on his toes and plasters his body closer to John’s, nails just lightly scratching against his skin. John feels fingers wind into his hair, an errant voice at the back of his head cringes at the thought of the flour, but it’s one that’s easily drowned out, lost in the shiver that trails down his spine.

“Hmm,” Alex sighs into John’s, happy from the sounds of it. “Gotta wonder what kind of greeting I’d get if I’d managed to have the cupcakes ready and waiting for you…”

“I think I prefer just having you waiting for me instead,” John laughs, one hand slipping down to cup playfully at Alex’s ass through the fabric of his own sweats (old ones of John’s. There’s a worn patch behind the knee. Alex won’t let him fix it, or have Hercules do so either. Says it gave them character.) “You’re my favorite treat after all.”

“Cheesy line,” Alexander wrinkles his nose and laughs. “Very cheesy. Like, drunk Lafayette on a Thursday levels of cheese.”

“The honesty behind it has to count for something,” John chuckles, drifting the hand not on Alex’s backside up to dust his cheek clean of flour, rubbing his fingers together to get the substance to dissipate into dust. God such a mess. “Man why couldn’t you be coated in sugar instead? You’re covered from head to toe, I want to kiss you, and flour tastes like shit.”

“I’m sweet enough without the sugar,” is the responding quip, and it’s so. So stupid, so perfectly stupid and wonderful and Alex. John feels his heart swell with the laugh that bubbles warm from his gut and he presses the sound into another kiss. 

Alexander laughs with him, leans closer, presses into John as though they could meld as one. He teases that he can be cheesy too, that he can do it better and John agrees, kisses him deeper to prove it, draws a moan from Alex and he grins. The baking is forgotten, that much is clear, and John’s just happy that he hadn’t gotten as far as turning the oven on just yet.

One less thing to worry about as he gathers his love (his heart, soul, everything) up in his arms and drowns in the early morning sweetness of a sleepless night.


	11. pool days

“Alex, come on.”

“No.”

“Alexander.”

“ _ No _ .”

“Alexander Hamilton get in the damn pool, you’re gonna get heat stroke!”

Alex looks over the top of his book for the first time, glaring at John over the rim of his sunglasses. “I’m from the Caribbean,” he notes dryly, letting the glasses tip down the slope of his nose as he surveys his boyfriend in the water. “I can handle a bit of heat.”

“Get in the water, you stubborn ass,” John rolls his eyes, chin propped on the fold of his arms over the rim of the Washington’s in-ground pool. “Don’t make me come out and drag you in.”

“See, you’re the one who wants me in,” Alexander smirks, letting his book lay on his chest, stretching out on the length of the lounge chair he’d claimed for his own. “Shouldn’t that mean you’re the one who has to put in the legwork here?”

John huffs a sigh, lips pulling down in a petulant pout. Alexander’s smirk just widens, knowing John wasn’t actually going to get out of the water to pull him in. He takes a moment to really get a good look at his boy.

Sun kissed skin, already several shades darker than usual, littered with freckles. Beads of water shone in the sunshine, glinting in the light. John’s curls were long and loose, dripping wet as they framed his beautiful face. Alexander was quite content to sit where he was and just gaze upon his beauty, to bask in the sunlight just as much as he was basking in John’s own light–

When he can feel himself be seized under the arms.

“Come little Alex,” Lafayette’s voice purrs low in his ear, lips curling into a grin as Alexander squawks and seizes up. “Time for you to have some fun.” With little to no trouble at all, Lafayette scoops Alex up into his arms, sending his book flying off to the side. 

“Put me the fuck down!” Alexander demands, voice a screech as he struggles in the taller man’s grip. Fucking Lafayette with the arms and abs, fucking fuck he shouldn’t be this strong. Bastard didn’t even work out! “Let me go!”

“Alright,” Lafayette smirks and without hesitation he lets Alexander go as asked, throwing him bodily into the deep end of the pool.

Alexander has enough time to suck in a breath before his body hits the water. For a moment there is a shock, ice washing over him, brief panic, and then his head breaks the surface and he gasps. Clean air, he’s fine, there’s not salt water here and he’s fine he’s fine– John is laughing.

The laughter is a melodic chorus, sweet and it rides high in the air. Alexander shakes his head, shakes the wet hair now plastered down out of his way and he glares. Lafayette towers over him at the edge of the pool. He blows a kiss before sauntering off and all Alexander can do is vow to plot revenge. 

“French fucker,” he mutters darkly, combing his wet hair out of his face a bit better before wading his way to the edge of the pool, aiming to get right back out again. John catches him before he can, hand warm even under  the chill of the water as he curls his fingers around one of Alex’s wrists. “What do you want?” Alex asks, letting himself be pulled, his annoyance already fading under the wash of John’s grin. “Pain in the ass.”

“I didn’t do anything,” John chuckles, pulling Alexander flush against him. One arm slips around his waist and Alexander’s hands fall to curl at John’s shoulders. The water is still cold, feels colder still after laying out in the sun for so long, but John is warm. “Laf threw you in. I just watched.”

“Better not just watch now,” Alex mutters, pressing more against John as a support in the water. John’s answer comes in the form of a kiss, that arm around his waist pulling him closer and Alexander smiles.


	12. sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sick, cuddling, love.

“John?” 

John Laurens looks up at the sound of his boyfriend’s groggy voice coming from the bedroom. “In the living room,” he calls back, immediately setting his laptop to the side, making room on the couch in case Alexander decided to join him. 

Stumbling from the hall is a pale, and bedraggled Alexander Hamilton. His eyes are fever bright and his cheeks flushed pink, vibrant against the sickly pallor to his skin. Poor thing. 

“Oh _querido_ ,” John murmurs, motioning his poor sick boy closer. “Come here, darling. You look terrible.”

“Not nice to say,” Alexander mutters, pulling his hair back into a messy bun as he maneuvers his way to the couch without hesitation. He ties the hair back as he flops down next to John, immediately curling into his side. John’s arms wrap around Alexander and hold him close. 

“Are you feeling any better?” John asks, pressing the back of his hand to Alexander’s forehead. He was still warm. “You took the medicine I left on the bedside table, right?”

“No, and yes,” Alexander snuggles into his side. “ _No me siento bien_ …”

“I know,” John coos, the hand checking Alexander’s temperature moving to stroke over his hair soothingly. “I know. The fact that you’re admitting that is enough, _querido_.”

“Do…” Alexander swallows dryly around his words, faltering for just a moment before he looks up at John, cheek smushed against his chest. “Do you have to go to class today? I don’t…” John’s mind fills in the ‘want to be alone’ that Alexander would never let himself say. 

“I’m all yours,” John promises, offering Alex a small smile. “ _Siempre tuyo_.” Alexander’s smile is breathtakingly beautiful, so small and fragile and John feels his chest swell ever more with love. 

“Even when you get sick after taking care of me?” Alex asks, managing to tease, curling more against John, shifting so his legs end up sprawled over his boyfriend’s lap.    
“Even then,” John chuckles, lips pressing to Alexander’s warm forehead with a smile. “Forever after and always, my dear boy.


	13. french love affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington spends sometime alone with his dearest Lafayette.

The sun is out and yet it’s raining. 

Lafayette practically presses himself against the glass of the back patio, watching the occurrence with a bright eyed wonder. George watches from his place in his arm chair with a smile. 

“ _ Comment ça s'appelle _ ?” Lafayette asks, tearing his gaze away from the glass to look back at George. “Sun rain?”

“Sun showers,” George corrects, fondness filling up all the nooks and crannies within his chest. “They’re actually quite common in Virginia.”

“Ah, your home. I cannot wait to see!” Lafayette smiles, wide and bright. It lights up every part of his beautiful face, steals the breath from George’s lungs all too easily. Keep it together Washington. Lafayette, oblivious to the acrobatics that took place within George’s chest every time he smiled turns back to the window. “When will we go?”

“Soon,” the promise is passing his lips with little thought, and George is surprised with himself. They needed to be careful, so very careful. Lafayette was so young, had so much ahead of him. Being caught with one of his teachers… well that was just more trouble than George knew he was worth. Lafayette deserved so much more.

“Good,” Lafayette nods, sending his curls bouncing, loose and soft around his head today, free from the usual tight ponytail. George smiles and pushes to his feet, overcome by the urge to join his boy at the window. 

He can barely manage to take two steps forward before Lafayette is pulling on the handle of the patio door and slipping outside into the rain. 

George watches as the boy pads out to the center of the patio, barefoot as he wades through small puddles and smiles. Lafayette throws his arms out, lets the rain wash over him with joy. The smile that breaks over his lips may as well have been the most breathtaking thing that George has ever seen. 

“Come join me,  _ mon amour, _ ” Lafayette tilts his head back, turning his face toward the sky. The rain is barely harder than a steady misting, but it catches noticeably in his hair. 

George, speechless and stricken, finds himself stepping out into the rain as well. Doesn’t matter that he’s still dressed from a day at the college, dress shirt just barely unbuttoned, tie loose around his neck, doesn’t matter that his socks are already getting wet. Lafayette, his beautiful boy, beckons and so he shall follow. 

Lafayette graces him with another gorgeous smile, reaches for him and guides them both in wrapping one another up together in their arms. The sun casts them in heavens light, a soft wash of angelic beauty and the misting of the rain hazes the world over. 

“I love you,” George whispers suddenly, fingers curling at Lafayette’s waist. “I love you, my dearest one.” 

The answering smile he gets is the prettiest one yet, and George swears he feels his heart stop flat. Lafayette leans up to close what little distance existed between them and kisses George like he was something precious. 

“ _ Je t'aime mon coeur _ ,” Lafayette presses these words into whispers, folds them into their sweet kiss. “ _ Vous êtes le soleil dans mon ciel . Brillance pour moi, même quand la pluie commence à tomber? _ ”

“Anything and everything you ask of me shall be yours,” George promises, smiling even though he has no idea what he’s responding too. It doesn’t matter. Lafayette’s answering smile is blinding, and the kiss that follows is even sweeter than that last. 


	14. love after midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things I said when I thought you were sleeping...

It was three AM, and Alexander was awake. 

This was not a surprise. Alexander was quite comfortable with his nighttime habits, not even bothered by the long nights that he brought on himself time and time again. It was just apart of his life now, he’d long since accepted that he would never be able to form a “normal” sleep schedule. And he was lucky to have found a partner who didn’t seem to mind it all that much.

Hell he was just lucky to have found John at all. 

Alexander glances up from the screen of his laptop, propped up on his knees. The dim glow of the screen is the only light in the room, just bright enough that he can see without needing to reach for his glasses, but definitely not bright enough to wake John from where he slept at Alexander’s side.

Alex smiles, reaches over to pulls the blankets up a bit more over his boyfriend’s sleeping form. John was flopped over onto his front tonight, arms wrapped tight around a pillow. His body was unconsciously curled toward Alex as much as he could be, and he was gone to the world. The light from the computer casts a soft glow over his face, highlights the sculpted contours of his cheeks, the slope of his nose, the dark fringe of his delicate lashes. His lips are just barely parted, mouth soft and almost pouty with sleep, the dark mess of his curls fan out just too perfectly and Alexander goes a little breathless at the sight of him.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers, the words falling from his lips before he can stop himself, riding the on the back of a sigh. “How on earth did I ever do anything to deserve you?”

John shifts in his sleep, just a little closer toward Alex, one leg brushing up against his own from under the covers. Alexander bites the inside of his cheek and makes a snap decision. He saves his work quickly and eases the laptop shut, casting the bedroom into darkness, and sets his computer aside. 

Carefully, so as not to disturb the angel in bed beside him, Alexander lays down, curls an arm around John’s waist, lets their legs tangle together. John sighs into the contact, curls his body closer and Alex smiles as his head hits the pillow. 

“I love you, John Laurens,” He whispers, fingers curling over the ridge of John’s sharp hipbone, pressed as close to his love as he could possibly be in bed. “I want to spend every day and night just like this…”

“I’m not stopping you,” John’s voice is a surprise, slurred heavy with sleep, barely intelligible, but heartstoppingly honest. Alexander just huffs a chuckle and leans closer, presses his lips to John’s forehead. “You gon’ sleep?”

“Yes love,” Alexander whispers. He soothes his thumb over John’s side, traces his smooth skin and John lets out a soft, content sigh. Alex hears him mutter “Good, love you” and settle against him, already dropping back off to sleep. 

_ Beautiful boy, _ Alexander thinks to himself as he lets his own eyes close.  _ Spend the rest of forever at my side, I will never let you go. _


	15. long distance call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things you said on the phone...

John opens the door to apartment, lets his bag hit the floor and lets out a sigh. Long fucking day. He rolls his shoulders, hopes that’ll help alleviate some of the stiffness that had settled there over the course of his eighteen hour shift at the hospital. Man he couldn’t wait till flu season was over, all this forced overtime, while nice on his paycheck, was hell on the rest of him.

He schleps himself into the front hall, pulling his scrub top off as he goes. He needed cram a protein bar into his mouth, shower, and curl up into bed. With any luck Alex wouldn’t have to work too late and would join him soon enough. 

“-I’m telling you Angelica, it’s time.”

Or maybe Alex was already home. 

John smiles at the pleasant surprise and makes a beeline for their bedroom. He gets to the door, is about to push it open (wondering mildly why it was closed in the first place) with all the intention of kissing Alex senseless while his brain was still functioning enough to make the decision to do so, when he hears Alex sigh. It’s a heavy, thoughtful sound, and there’s such a lifetime of emotion threaded into that sound that it gives him pause. 

“Yes Ang,” he hears Alexander says. “We’ve haven’t been living together long, but this is right, I know it.” A pause, then Alexander laughs. “Yeah no, I’m sure John has no idea.”

John’s brow furrows. He has no idea what? His fingers go tight in the fabric of his top in his hand, almost choking on the sudden spike of anxiety that blossoms from our of nowhere. What didn’t he know? What was Alex not telling him? They’d been together for a little over a year, friends for close to three, and living together for just about a month. Things had been good, better than, and John had been so happy. Even with the craziness at the hospital and finishing up med school, and with Alexander and his internship at the state department, things had been better than John could have ever imagined. He never once thought that Alex hadn’t felt the same… until now. 

His panic is disrupted by another laugh, a soft, fond sound. John melted at it, was helpless to do anything else and he forces himself to relax. Nothing was wrong, they were fine. Fine, fine fine fine–

“I’m positive,” Alexander says, confident. “I’ve never felt more sure of anything in my life. I love him.” John smiles, ducking his head as he feels warmth bloom pleasantly at his cheeks even if there’s no one else around to see. There’s the shift of sheets, Alex either laying down or sitting up on the bed, and then another sigh. “I wanna marry him.”

The words hit him like a sucker punch to the gut and it leaves him breathless, weak in the knees. Marry? Alexander wants to marry him? John is hit with a rush of images all at once; Alexander walking down the aisle, white flowers woven through his raven dark hair. The smile on his face is soft, they’re surrounded by their friends. Some faceless minister ties them together, and Alexander looks fit to burst with happiness. He’s beautiful, and when John slips a gold band on his finger his mouth falls open in awe, speechless. 

An ache erupts in his chest, spreads fast all over like a virus and John wants. He wants it, wants Alexander forever, wants them to wake up linked by a promise and their love. He wants to marry Alexander. 

“…No I don’t have it yet,” Alexander shifts on the bed, John tries to calm himself. “I’m going to the jewelers on Saturday, while he’s in class. I already have a ring picked out…”

John closes his eyes, can’t contain his smile. He’s sure he looks like the biggest doofus, but who fucking cares. He shakes his head and pulls himself together. Alexander would want to keep the surprise…

He paces away from the door and steadies himself with a deep breath, shrugging his scrub top back on. “Alex?” he calls, padding back up the hall. He hears a quiet curse, a quick “Ang I gotta go!” And then then door is opening, his Alexander bounding out of the room to meet him. 

“John!”

“Hey,” John smiles, wraps Alexander up in his arms and holds him close. “Hi baby.” He can hear the love dripping from his tone, knows Alexander can too from the way he winds himself tight into the embrace. John closes his eyes and smiles at the simplicity of it. “Love you.”


	16. don't go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little thing from the Marine John Laurens AU (Another Day, Another Dawn)

“Don’t leave me.”

“Alex…”

“John please,” Alexander crawls closer to him on the bed, over the mess of their tangled sheets. His hands reach and John reaches back, pulls his lover into his arms and wraps him up tight against his chest. “Don’t go,” Alexander whispers, tucking his face into John, inhales deeply the sweet musk of his cologne. The press of their bare skin together is warm, comforting, even as Alex can feel the tears start to spill over.

“Alex I don’t have a choice,” John’s voice rumbles against Alexander’s ear. He can hear regret, sadness and guilt ringing low in his tone. Alexander holds him tighter. “My flight leaves tonight… I have to ship back out, you know I do.”

“How long this time?” Alex tries to take a deep breath, to steady himself. It gets wrapped up in a sob, John shifts 

“Eight months,” John whispers, lips pressing to Alex’s forehead when he whimpers. “I know. I know… but then I’m home, you know that.”

“I can’t handle when you’re gone,” Alex tilts his face up, meets John’s gaze tearfully. “I can’t, the nights are so long and I’m alone here and I miss you so much I don’t-”

“If I could stay I would never leave,” John rubs a hand over Alex’s back, tries to soothe the tremors, to steady the tears. “I love you, Alexander. I never want to be apart from you.” His hands find Alexander’s face, thumbs wipe at the tears that flow freely. “Don’t cry, dear boy…. not for me.”

“You’re the only one I cry for,” Alexander closes his eyes, leans into John’s caress on his face, leans into this moment they shared together, while they still could. 


	17. Impulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander can't tell if he regrets this or not...

“So what do you think?“

Alexander squirms, toes curling anxiously into the carpet of their bedroom. Silence weighs heavy in the apartment, hangs so thick that Alex feels like he can choke on it.

John stands next to their bed, school bag hanging half off one of his shoulders, swinging slightly though John himself is still. His lips are quirked to the side, nose wrinkled, contemplative. Alexander bites his lip and shifts under the weight of dark hazel eyes.

Alex holds John’s gaze, even as the tingling burn of anxiety starts to curl tight around his chest. Alex runs a hand over the back of his neck, almost winces at the short, newly shorn feel of what was left of his hair there.   
  
He was really starting to regret his impulse decision haircut. Probably not something he should have rounded out his finals week cycle of all nighters and stress with. 

At the time it seemed great. Most of his headaches came from his hair being tied up too high or too tight for too long, showers were a pain in the ass and he didn’t have the time or patience to deal with the mess that was drying it. He’d felt damn good about stumbling out of his last final, having suffered through the test miserably as his last hair tie snapped, and into the nearest salon. It was only after everything was said and done and he’d really gotten a look at himself that he realized what had actually just happened. The panic settled in real nice after that first look in the mirror.  
  
And that was before he even started to take John’s reaction into account. 

“Are you going to say anything?” Alex asks, tension riding high in his shoulders as John just continues to stand there staring at him, scrutinizing him. “I…anything would be good really…”  
  
“Why?” John asks, blinking at him, heading tilting to the side. Alex can’t quite catch the urge to wince this time. Maybe no words were better after all. Alex’s breath stutters in his chest, his panic spiking exponentially. His fingers itch to tangle in and pull on hair that no longer exists.   
  
“I just…” He drops his gaze, shifting uneasily in place. “Does it really look that bad?” His voice sounds small, even to his own ears, pathetic and scared.   
  
“What? No!” John drops his bag on the bed, springing forth into movement and closing the distance between them before Alex can even take another breath. His hands fit to Alex’s face, cupping his cheeks and tilting his gaze up to meet his own again. “Oh babe, no that’s not what I meant!”  
  
“It’s not?” Alex asks, blinking at him. John shakes his head, eyes warm and earnest. A smile graces his lips and Alex doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone more beautiful in his life.   
  
“No. It looks great, baby girl,” John slips one hand up to Alex’s hair, runs his fingers through the new, shorter style, smiles a bit wider when Alex shivers at the touch. Such a different feeling. He thinks he likes it. “Honestly, it looks damn good. Really hot, babe.”  
  
“You really like it?”   
  
“Of course I do,” John fits his hand to the back of Alexander’s neck, almost cradling him in place. “I was just surprised, you left this morning with a ponytail and now you’ve got something… hipster stylish going on.” John laughs at the swat Alex lands on his chest, catching his wrist with one steady hand. He presses kisses to his knuckles, grinning at Alexander’s blush. “You look great Alex. Beautiful like always. Nothing’s gonna change that.”   
  
Alex melts, leans into John’s touch as his knees go a bit weak. His words have left him, washed away in a wave of relief that sweeps through him at John’s smile. “I love you,” he whispers, eyes slipping shut. “I’ve been freaking out since I realized what I did…”  
  
“Babe,” John chuckles, sweeping his thumb over the arch of Alex’s cheek. “You impulsed this, didn’t you?”  
  
“That’s not a verb,” Alex murmurs, turning his face into John’s hand, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. “Shut up.”  
  
“You’ve made it a verb,” John taps his fingers against Alex’s cheek, shifts his touch higher to gently press at his temple until Alex opens his eyes. He’s greeted with the stunning sight of his John, smiling fondly at him, eyes liquid in their amusement. “Remember the tattoos?”  
  
“You got those with me,” Alex reminds him, relishing happily when John laughs.   
  
“Alright, point taken,” John grins. “But still, this is a bit more noticeable than the tats we share on our chests, babe.” He gives a playful tug on what’s left of Alexander’s hair, grins sparking wider when Alex arches into the touch, breath catching just loud enough for John to hear. “Well that’s fun. You just as sensitive then?”  
  
“Maybe more,” Alex looks up at John, lips quirking as the last of his nerves fizzle away, replaced with a low rush of heat in their place. “Less of a delay without the length…”  
  
“We might just have to take some time to test that,” John muses, carding his fingers through Alex’s hair, nails just lightly biting as runs them down to the nape of his neck.   
  
Alex laughs, surges up without a moment’s hesitation to lean up to kiss John silly. John presses laughter of his own into the kiss, and Alex thinks this might be his favorite impulse decision yet.


	18. Story of Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little thing based in @americawashington ‘s AU. It’s beautiful thing guys, seriously go check it out, I love it so much. Quick summary for you: John Laurens is the host of his own Daily Show/Late Show type thing, and Alexander is his activist lawyer boyfriend. They love each other a lot. The Republican National Convention was a shitshow and so of course they’re gonna shit on it as well. 
> 
> This is completely self indulgent and I had so much fun with it.

“And we’re back,” John Laurens grins out to the cameras and his enthusiastic audience. His smile is wide and his eyes are alight. The atmosphere in the studio is electric. 

Damn he loves his fucking job.

“If you’re just joining us, then damn you’ve missed one hell of a night,” John laughs, shaking his head, tapping his pen on the table. His eyes scan the crowd, a grand sweep under the brightness of the lights, the focus of the cameras tracking his every move. “Now, we’ve been reeling in the after affects of the Republican National Convention, giving you a full recap as the week draws to a close. And what a week it’s been. In the past few days we’ve heard from none other than our newly crowned Republican candidate Donald Trump and his family, we’ve heard from Rubio and Cruz, otherwise known as the little assholes who couldn’t, and we heard a whole lot of things that honestly chill me to my core,” John ticks these off, finger by finger, tone growing grave by the end. His words are interspersed and timed around short clips, highlighting the chaos of the political atmosphere of the last week, and really, the whole damned election. Silence reigns, not a single person moves. “It’s been a lot guys. And I know it’s been confusing, trying to follow these conversations that just don’t make sense. Believe me we’re right there with you!”

John throws a thumb over his shoulder, smirking. “I swear I get here every day and it’s Sam and Peggy flipping out over something new. They’re my own personal Twitter shitstorm, it’s great.” Laughter breaks the silence, ease washes anew through the room. John sits back in his chair a bit.

“So yeah, it’s been a lot. And after wading through the daily doses of all this shit and nonsense, as the week has finally come to a close, I gotta say it guys, we’re tired.” He shakes his head, heaving a short sigh. “Real tired. We need a damn break if I’m gonna be honest.”  John pauses, calm and calculated, clearly planned. No one seems to care. On the sidelines Peggy grins, still dressed in her signature yellow. She’s been waiting for this all night.

John looks out at his crowd, his people. They know something is up, can read it in the way that he’s holding himself behind the desk, the way he can’t quite sit still.

“Actually, a break doesn’t sound that bad. Sounds great even,” John fans out his hands, easy and open. “Maybe that’s just what we all need. Maybe I gotta bring in someone new, have someone else spit words at you guys for at least a little bit. Maybe someone new will help spark a conversation that so many aren’t willing to have.” Another pause, another calculation, just long enough for a grin to spread itself handsomely at John’s lips. “And I think I got just the person in mind.”

He pushes to his feet, palms flat on his desk, the gold buttons on the cuffs of his period jacket clinking against the glass tabletop as he goes, and practically beams under the aura of anticipation and excitement that’s started to spread.

“Ladies and gentlemen, people of all gender identities, I’d proudly like to welcome to join in telling the story of tonight, none than political voice on the horizon Alexander Hamilton.”

The audience doesn’t miss a beat, more than a bit familiar with Alexander through anecdotes from all of the Story crew and the cheer they greet him with rivals the one that John gets every night on his entrance. Not that he’s paying attention to that, focused only on the sleek form of Alexander striding out onto the stage.

Alex is beaming too, an actual skip in his step as he strides across the stage. He’s dressed to code, decked out in a lovely green coat and vest combo, the immaculate work of Hercules clinging attractively to his every curve and line. John has to try damn hard not to drool.

He steps out from behind the desk, grinning as he reaches for his Alexander, pulling him close as soon as he’s able. Alex greets him with a hug, brushes a kiss to the cheek that’s not facing the cameras and pulls away again before either are tempted for more.

John doesn’t protest, lets Alex go and just glows as he sits back down. Alexander waves to the audience, laughing as they struggle to settle down. Peggy is laughing too from her spot out of sight, practically cackling as they just have to wait for the applause to peter out.

“So,” John says, no less than thirty seconds later, practically bouncing in his seat. “From that applause I’m going to assume y’all know who this is.” More cheers, Alex just laughs, shaking his head. His still new short haircut flip flops over his forehead, into his eyes and he just grins as he brushes it aside.

“Didn’t think I’d get that much of a welcome,” Alex grins, charming the crowd with barely any effort. John has to physically tear his gaze away, he looks so damn good. Green was so his color. Not like they didn’t already know that, but still. Damn good.

“Now, there’s gotta be a few of you who are a little confused,” John motions a hand to Alexander as he gets comfortable in his chair. “This is Alexander Hamilton. He is a lawyer and political activist and an integral part of the Washington 2016 campaign for president. You’ve probably heard of him, if only because he’s been the one voted to most likely to be bitching about Thomas Jefferson on any social media platform that exists.” Alex chuckles and John grins, reaching a hand across the table for Alex to take. “And probably most importantly… he’s my boyfriend.”

“Is that really the most important?” Alexander laughs, taking John’s hand and threading their fingers together, in full view of the cameras. More applause, a wave of “aww”s and John just grins a bit wider.

“Duh, I’m a catch.” He gives Alexander’s hand a squeeze before pulling back, focusing back on the show. Still got one more segment to phase through. “Right anyway. So I’ve talked about Alex before. A lot. Like a lot a lot, probably an excessive amount. But it’s not unwarranted. Aside from me being head over heels for him as a person that I love, he’s also brilliant and incredibly verbose, especially when it comes to politics. Truly, there’s no one better to bring in for some fresh takes on the past week at the RNC.”

“Are we sure we want to let me go off?” Alex asks, arching a brow playfully. “I mean… anyone who follows me on twitter can see what I’ve been saying concerning the whole thing. And it’s really nothing pretty, John.”

“I know.” John looks to Alex and grins. “And I’m still choosing to give you the floor, babe. You can say whatever you want. I’m good with it.” Alex’s eyes twinkle madly at him, bright and alive and John wants to kiss him senseless right then and there.

“Anything I want?”

“You have a time limit,” Peggy’s voice cuts across the stage, chased by a chorus of laughter from the audience and crew. “Ten minutes tops Hamilton! I’m serious.”

“Love you too, Pegs,” Alex waves her off, shooting a smile in the youngest Schuyler’s direction, chuckling. He looks back to John, throws him a wink and then looks out to the crowd. “So. Hi. I’m Alex. Sup?”

John stifles a laugh, sitting back in his chair, giving complete control to Alexander, happy to watch him bask in the attention he’s lucky enough to soak up every night.

“As John said, I’m a big supporter of George Washington, let’s get that out of the way right now. I’m coming at this from a completely biased side. And you know what? That’s okay. Because the other side? Yeah they’re just a bad. Only difference is that the other side is heavy with outdated, close minded, fear mongering ideologies and they’re looking to tear down all the progress that’s been made toward a more progressive society.” Alexander sits straight and tall in his chair, his voice slipping easily into a cadence that just demands and captures attention.

“The last week has been like some weird dream. I swear to God it’s something dredged up outta a nightmare I’m sure I’ve had before. Between Donald Trump officially securing the nomination, which was no surprise let’s be real, the writing’s been on the wall for months, and all the terrible things that republicans felt the need to shout concerning issues such as the rising violence in our country, and their favorite dartboard of immigration issues,” Cue eyeroll one from Alexander and a pause in his dialogue to roll a quick montage mash of  clips of different republican party members, spouting bitter words and parroting their candidates’ ignorance. “Now speaking as an immigrant myself, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that that isn’t what upsets me most about what happened this week.

“What upsets me most, is that I walked away from this shitshow with some modicum of goddamn respect for Ted Cruz of all people.” John nearly chokes on his snort. Another clip rolls, the truly fantastic one of Cruz refusing to endorse Trump. John knows it well, Alex had fallen off the couch laughing when he’d first seen it, had reblogged, reposted and retweeted it pretty much the moment it was available to do so. Alex steals a glance to the side, shares a grin with John before focusing again.

“You heard that right? Ted Cruz, the man with no reflection, blander than mayonnaise, stood up in front of his whole political party and gave the politest “fuck you” I’ve ever heard,” Alex laughs, shaking his head. “He’s refusing to support Trump on the grounds of all the mudslinging that’s been coming from the giant Oompa Loompa’s mouth about his family, and I HATE that it’s made me respect him. I mean, I hate him. I hate him so much. John back me up here.”

“He has one of those “Cruz is the zodiac killer” shirts,” John confirms, smirking. “I have pictures. I’ll show Instagram later, promise.”

Alexander laughs, head tipping back with the movement and the lights hit him just right. He looks angelic, practically glowing and John leans forward on his desk. He should listen he knows, Alexander is spitting the truth, like he always does and it’s good, John knows it. But he just can’t focus, far more entranced with the way Alexander moves his hands, elegant though frantic, like a maestro conducting his symphony, words replacing notes and stanzas, and passionate all the same.

“…and like John said it’s scary,” Alexander clasps his hands together, tone and demeanor growing more solemn. John focuses back in, watching his darling boy carefully. “It’s scary to hear these people who want to lead and guide our country speak so openly with anger and hate and fear on their tongues. It’s scarier to know that they’re not just talking, and that people are listening. There are people who believe wholeheartedly that the color of my skin and where I was born and who I love are things that are wrong with me and that these are things that damage our country.” Alexander frowns, eyes moving over the studio audience, calm as the eye of a storm, steady, aware that he’s got everyone hanging on his every word.

“I’m an immigrant from the Caribbean. I came to this country to go to school and to find a better life. I’m a Columbia graduate. I’m a lawyer. I’m an activist. I’ve seen corruption in this world and I’ve tried my best to correct it. I’m a bisexual man and I’m in love with the amazing man sat right here behind this desk,” Alex slams a hand down on John’s desk, startling a few people in the front row with the action. “These are all things that make me who I am. These are all things that many in the Republican party are trying say are bad, that they deserve hate and fear. These are all things that I know in my heart are things to be proud of. And it truly is a broken world and system we live in when people like me, when people anywhere hear such negativity from the people who they trust to lead..”

Alexander’s voice breaks, just at the end, and for a moment the world stands still. John keeps his gaze locked on Alexander, watches the way his chest heaves, up and down, a full moment’s breath before the applause starts. It’s a roar, a total cacophony of cheeks and shouts and Alexander ducks his gaze, smile teasing at his lips.

John’s heart thuds in his chest, the sound of it deafening to his own ears. It drowns out the roar of the crowd. Alexander looks to him, pink flushed his in the arch of his cheeks, smile almost shy. WIthout a word Alex reaches for his hand, an offer and a promise. John takes his hand with breaking his gaze, threads their fingers and presses the lightest of kisses to Alexander’s knuckles.

“Couldn’t have said it any better myself,” John says, and he can barely hear himself. Alexander’s smile widens, dimples poke at his cheeks. He swallows against the hot throb of love swelling up in his throat and forces focus, tearing his gaze from his Alexander, but not his grip away. He flashes one last grin at the crowd, laughs when he sees a few of them on their feet. A red light flashes overhead. Time’s up. Perfect. John holds up his and Alexander’s intertwined hands, proudly displays their love and their partnership for all to see.

“Like I said before. Verbose and brilliant. That was Alexander Hamilton, I’m John Laurens. And this has been The Story of Tonight! Thank you and goodnight!”

****

“I don’t know how you do it every night,” Alexander smiles, tucking his face into John’s shoulder. The words are whispered between sweet, affectionate kisses peppered everywhere that he could reach.

“Practice, babe,” John chuckles, arms looped loosely around his waist. “You’d get used to it in time.”

“Don’t think I could ever get used to that rush,” Alex tilts his head up, lips quirked sweetly. John steals yet another kiss, tastes the happiness from Alexander’s tongue. “No wonder you get home all amped up after a show,” he murmurs.

John laughs. “Yeah it’s a rush.” His smile shifts into a smirk, eyes alight and playful. “That you telling me you’re amped and ready to go, babe?” Alexander hums in response, quiet for a few moments. He trails his lips along the hard line of John’s jaw, lightly tickles that sweet little spot behind his lover’s ear with a lingering kiss that makes John melt. When he speaks the silence has almost gone too long, John would happily gone without an answer, as long as Alexander’s lips didn’t leave his skin.

When they do it’s to utter a soft, husky, “Have we ever had sex in your dressing room before?” And John can’t help but laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on tumblr @secretwritinggetaway. Always taking prompts.


End file.
